Every Hidden Truth (Far From Ruined #2)

11. Queer Club

11

Queer Club

The last few weeks of the semester passed in a flurry of study guides and practice exams. Ben served his detention with his coach, but nothing else was done about the after school fight. Apparently, Coach McKinney really didn’t want anything tarnishing his wrestlers’ reputations because it was as if the fight never happened.

Which was probably for the best. It meant no one got suspended or, worse, expelled—me included. So I kept my head down, and it all seemed to blow over without too many repercussions.

The last Monday of the semester was frigid. Snow mounded in deep drifts, and ice slicked the roads. Mabel fish-tailed at every turn, and I crawled along at a measly fifteen miles per hour to ensure I didn’t end up in the ditch.

When I made it to school in one piece, I parked my truck a few spaces down from Ben’s silver Impala. He leaned against the hood, dressed in his bulky winter coat and fuzzy hat. The moment I rolled to a stop, he loped over with a wide grin.

His blue eyes were bright, no longer shadowed by bruising, and I couldn’t stop my responding smile as he waited for me on the sidewalk, bouncing on his toes. My fingers twitched with the desire to rip off his hat so I could see his dimple—and kiss his face off, of course.

“Hey, Silas.” He tugged me close and—hunching to adjust to our height difference as he teetered on the edge of the curb—he plopped a deep, close-mouthed kiss on my lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, indeed. What’s got you in such a good mood?” I pecked his mouth again, his lips chilled from the wind. His cold fingers twined with my warmer ones as he led me toward the school doors.

“Can’t I be happy to see my boyfriend?” he deflected.

I narrowed my eyes as he practically dragged me into the bustling building. “I’m glad to be the reason for your happiness, but it’s Monday, and we have semester exams this week. So even my presence should not be bringing you this much joy.”

Rolling his eyes, he huffed. “You know, the glass is allowed to be half-full sometimes.”

“I substitute your reality for my own, and in my reality, there is no glass.” I stuck my tongue out at him, and he chuckled.

“Come on, Debbie Downer.” I scowled as he tugged me down the slowly filling corridor. “The semester is almost over, and there’s a lot to be happy about.”

“Not this happy,” I quipped suspiciously.

Less than a minute later, the bright colored streamers and bobbing balloons attached to my locker revealed the secret to Ben’s excitement, and heat flooded my face as we came to a stop. The words, Happy Birthday, Silas, were glued to the door in rainbow construction paper, and I could barely find my combination dial through the plethora of festive decor.

Students gawked, some laughing while others made embarrassing “aw” sounds as they passed. I fingered one of the lime green streamers as I fought a mix of pleasure and embarrassment.

No one had ever decorated my locker for my birthday before. To be honest, my birthday was usually swept up in Christmas festivities since it was only three days before the major holiday. But Ben had arrived at school early to surprise me with this. It felt significant.

Not wanting to turn into a blubbering mess, I rounded on Ben, hands on my hips. “Why does it look like a birthday party threw up on my locker? It’s not even my birthday.”

“Well, your birthday is on Saturday, so I couldn’t do it then.” He studied my expression, his happiness fading. “Is it too much? Do you hate it? I can take it down if—”

“Oh, shut up,” I threw my arms around his neck. “It’s great. Really.”

He squeezed me, kissing the side of my head. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Yes, I like it.” I released him and inspected my locker again. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t just me,” he admitted, fingers tracing the back of my hand. “I had help.”

Ben glanced over his shoulder a moment before he was unceremoniously shoved out of the way. I was immediately assaulted by hair spray, sweet perfume, and lots of hair as Caroline and Kim attacked me. I shrieked as they squashed me between them, singing an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday .

“Oh my God, there is so much boob right now! Get off of me.” I struggled half-heartedly, laughing when Kim and Caroline pressed kisses to my cheeks. “Ben? Ben! Help me.”

“You love it, and you know it,” Kim said, giving me another hard hug.

Thankfully, Ben saved me, tucking me into his side as the seven-minute bell rang.

“I feel like I just got to second base with them both, and I wasn’t even trying!” I sent Ben an eyebrow waggle. “Am I a chick magnet?”

“You wish,” Caroline snorted at the same time Kim said, “If that’s your idea of second base, I feel bad for Ben. Yikes.”

“Hey!” I said as they headed toward their classes. “When Ben and I get to second base, I’m going to blow his mind. Just you wait and see!” I yelled after them.

Ben cleared his throat. “Maybe that’s not something you should shout in the middle of a crowded hallway?”

Blood rushed into my cheeks, boiling under my skin. “Oops.”

Ignoring the attention we’d garnered, I opened my locker and fought through the balloons he’d somehow stuffed inside. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ben. I can’t see a damn thing.”

He laughed as I finally retrieved my binder and shoved my backpack into my locker. Turning back to him, I popped onto my toes and kissed him. He smirked against my lips.

“We’re gonna be late to class,” he mumbled against my mouth, and I nipped his bottom lip.

“Don’t care,” I sing-songed.

Backing me up against my locker, he kissed me firmly, uncaring that I was smooshing all the decorations. I slipped an arm around his neck and licked at the seam of his mouth. He tasted like spearmint gum, and—

A throat cleared noisily behind Ben, and we broke apart with a jolt.

“Don’t make me write you two up for inappropriate behavior,” Mr. Rodriguez said dryly, arms crossed over his sweater vest.

“That’s homophobic,” I said.

Ben choked.

Mr. Rodriguez looked unimpressed. “I’ve been married to a man for six years. Try again.”

I gasped dramatically. “Mr. Rodriguez, for shame! What would Jesus say?”

Ben groaned and hid his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

Mr. Rodriguez arched an eyebrow. “Get to class.”

“I don’t think Jesus cares about my education,” I said as the two-minute warning bell rang.

“Get to class,” he ordered, and I smiled.

“You’re so much cooler now, by the way. You should start a school club for the queers! Like Glee, but without the singing and the synchronized dancing. Wow, Glee was super gay. How was that even mainstream?”

“We’re going to class now,” Ben announced, tugging on my hand to get me moving.

“Good idea,” Mr. Rodriguez said.

“Queer Club, Mr. Rodriguez. We have to!” I cried as I stumbled after Ben. To Ben, I said, “Did you know he was gay?”

“I don’t even know who that is,” he admitted as we rushed down the hall.

“Oh, he’s the Spanish teacher. He was really nice, even though I sucked at Spanish. He never had any pictures of his family on his desk.” I stopped in the middle of the hall. “Did the administration not allow him to? That’s a hate crime, Ben!”

Capturing my face in his hands, he kissed me, short and sweet. “As much as I love your spirit of activism, I’m literally going to be late to my class.”

“Oh, right.” I pecked his mouth and pushed him away. “I’ll see you at lunch. Run!”

He ran.

I ducked into my econ class half a minute before the bell rang, hoping he’d made it to class on time.

Since classes were dedicated to test preparation, I spent most of my time planning events for the fictitious school club that Mr. Rodriguez and I would definitely be creating. It had to be for allies too, though, because other than me, Ben, and the choir lesbians, we were short on queer people in this school.

Well, at least, we were the only out queer people. There were more; there always were. Maybe they just needed a safe place.

Head filled with crazy ideas, I walked into the cafeteria, searching the crowd for Ben. He was walking away from the tiny school “store” where students could buy gym clothes, school memorabilia, and tickets to various school events and performances. As he tucked his wallet into his pocket, he noticed me and smiled.

“Hey, so I know I was just rambling before,” I said the second he was in ear shot, “but what if we did start a club?”

“What?”

I took his hand and told him about my ideas for Queer Club as we entered the lunch line and filled our trays with food. He listened with rapt attention, chiming in with his own ideas, and by the time we were sitting down, I felt... giddy. Which was a weird emotion for me.

Unfortunately, my excitement was doused by Kim rounding on me the second I sat down, a feral look in her eyes. I froze like I was facing a T-Rex. Maybe, if I didn’t move, she wouldn’t see me, and I could escape before she ripped me apart and ate me with her terrifying jaws.

“Are you guys coming to take pictures with us before dinner or just meeting us at the restaurant?” Her question confused me, but the banner hanging on the wall behind her head jogged my brain.

I burst into disbelieving laughter. “You mean winter dance? We’re not going to that.” I glanced at Ben, disappointed at the lack of amusement I expected.

“You don’t want to?” He cocked his head to the side, curious.

I sobered quickly. “W-what?”

“The dance? You don’t want to go?”

Was he serious or fucking with me?

I faced him head-on, smothering my bewildered laughter. “Wait, you do?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you insane? The dance committee would drive us off with torches and pitchforks, and we’d probably give the principal a heart attack.”

“You realize nobody actually cares, right?”

I tore off a piece of chicken and dunked it viciously in ranch. “They’d probably stone us.”

“Weren’t you just talking about starting a queer club at this very school?”

“Yeah, for queer people and allies. Not everyone else!”

Irritation colored his face. “You know, eventually, you’ll have to get over this complex of yours, right?”

“Complex?”

“You don’t want to go to the dance? Fine. But don’t blame it on other people.” He waved his hand around the room, his tone clipped. “No one gives a shit whether we go together or not. So stop pretending like we’ll get burned at the stake and you’re somehow doing me a favor.”

He stabbed his spaghetti violently with his fork, and the table fell into awkward silence. Harris stared at his plate as Kim and Caroline exchanged a heavy look. Jordan drummed his fingers on the table, and Ronnie did his best not to laugh outright.

As the back of my neck heated, I focused on my plate, no longer hungry. I felt like a child being scolded, and my defenses rose instinctively.

“Well, I don’t even dance,” I snapped after an uncomfortably long silence, and Ben’s shoulders slumped.

“Fine, then don’t go.” He fished his wallet from his pocket and retrieved two tickets, tossing them at Jordan. “Here, you still need to buy tickets, right?”

He’d bought us tickets?

Guilt assaulted me as Jordan saved the tickets from drowning in ketchup, mumbling a thanks. Kim and Caroline glared at me as Ben forced himself to eat, his face drawn.

Well, shit on a stick!

Swallowing my pride, I tentatively reached for his arm. “We can go, if you want.”

“It’s not a big deal, Silas.” He withdrew from my touch. “It’s just a dance. Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t know you bought tickets.”

“It’s fine.”

I gritted my teeth. “It’s not fine. I didn’t know you wanted to go or that you made plans. I just… you could’ve just asked.”

The splotchy red on his cheeks leaked down his neck as he pushed his pasta around on his plate. “Well, I was going to—it doesn’t matter.”

A smile teased my lips at his sudden shyness as my fingers grazed over the back of his wrist. “You were going to do one of those lame, superfluous, asking-me-to-the-dance things, weren’t you?”

Embarrassed, he shrugged noncommittally.

I ignored the obvious attention from the others at the table as I scooted closer to my distraught boyfriend. “I’ll go with you. Maybe it’ll be fun.”

“You’re only saying that because you feel guilty. That’s somehow worse.”

I shook my head, stammering denials. “What? No! Well, okay, yes, but I do wanna go with you. I mean, the dance is probably gonna be stupid, but you’re not. And if you wanna go, then I wanna go.” His mouth pressed into a disbelieving line, and I took his hand firmly in mine. “For real, Ben. Let’s go to the dance.”

With a condescending pat to my hand, he dismissed me. “It’s not a big deal. I promise. I shouldn’t have overreacted. Let’s just eat and stop making everyone uncomfortable.”

Awkward chuckles echoed around the table as Ben took a drink of his Gatorade, and I scowled.

“Come to the dance with me,” I demanded, but he ignored me, choosing instead to gather his half-eaten tray and rise from his chair.

“I’m gonna throw my trash away,” he announced to no one in particular before walking away.

Seriously? He was going to make me do this, wasn’t he? Dammit.

Growling, I pushed away from the table, then climbed on top of my chair until I stood tall and proud for all to see. Ben’s passive-aggressive apathy meant he didn’t see me, and he jumped a foot in the air when I sucked in a breath and bellowed his name across the cafeteria. “Benjamin James Adams, sexiest diver on the swim team, I have a very important question to ask you!”

The lunchroom fell silent as Ben spun on me with wide eyes. “Silas—”

“I offer you this”—I searched my surroundings and plucked a chicken strip from my plate—“chicken strip as a symbol of my affection and officially request that you accompany me to the winter dance.”

Ronnie burst into laughter followed by Jordan, Kim, and numerous others throughout the room.

My face burned at the attention, but I didn’t move. I held the chicken strip as a peace offering as Ben grew increasingly red in the face.

“Get down from there,” he hissed, his skin beet-red.

With a shake of my head, I dangled the chicken in his line of vision. “Not until you agree to go to the dance with me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he cursed as he stalked toward me, his expression pinched. “Fine, we’ll go to the damn dance. Now, get down!”

Throwing my hands in the air, I cheered. “He said yes!”

Caroline and Kim joined me, shrieking in mock celebration as the majority of the student body grumbled and rolled their eyes.

Ben grasped my arm, and my obnoxious jubilation ended with a yelp as he yanked me from my high position on the chair.

He glared, pinning my arms to my side, and I smiled demurely as I feigned innocence. “See? Was that so hard?”

“You’re an asshole.” Shoving away from me, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“But you still like me.” I snatched the dance tickets away from a still chortling Jordan and presented them to him. “I’ll buy dinner.”

Air whistled through his nose as he glowered at the offending slips of paper before he seized them and shoved them into his pocket. “I’m gonna order the most expensive thing on the menu, and you’re not gonna say shit about it, okay?”

“Not a word.” I pantomimed zipping my lips shut and locking them with an invisible key.

Disgruntled, he plopped into his chair and sulked as I finished my now lukewarm chicken strips with a smug air. I nudged his leg with my knee at even intervals as conversation picked up around us once more, and after several minutes of pouting, he finally thawed.

The corners of his lips twitched when I knocked our knees together for the millionth time, and he caved.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” he grumbled, and I shimmied closer until my shoulder pressed to his.

“But you still like me,” I repeated.

He sighed, raking a hand through his curls. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Dick.” I flicked his ear, and he retaliated with a hard pinch to my side. “Ow!”

He captured my jaw before I could curse at him again, and he squished my cheeks until I made fish lips. “I’ll pick you up, but you have to dress nice.” Apparently, my nonchalant head wiggle wasn’t good enough, and I whined when he squeezed my cheeks harder. “Silas?”

“Fine.” The word was garbled, barely escaping my squashed lips. I batted his hand away, rubbing my cheeks, and he laughed. “I’m not wearing a fucking tie. And I don’t dance.”

“Kim says you’re a great dancer.” He gulped his Gatorade, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yeah, Drunk Silas might be a good dancer, but this is Sober Silas and Sober Silas doesn’t dance.”

He mulled over my words, worrying the inside of his cheek. “Maybe. But I bet I can convince you.”

“Cocky.”

This time, his smile was arrogant as well as adorable. “Confident.”